


Zen

by DropshipMyths



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Worried Bellamy Blake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:10:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21908665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DropshipMyths/pseuds/DropshipMyths
Summary: Bellamy is working as a massage therapist to earn some extra money in grad school. But nobody knows he's doing it.Clarke is feeling the combined pressure from her pre-med major, trying to grieve her father and coping with her mom's new relationship.When she gets a gift card to the town's fancy spa and decides to check it out, she gets more than she bargained for.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 16
Kudos: 331





	1. Chapter 1

Tonight, everything at the City of Light is an assault on Clarke's senses. Pitbull seems to be singing at the highest imaginable decibel, the purple strobe lights streak across her skin in random, pulsing patterns and it takes her a full ten minutes to fight her way from the front door through the throng of sweaty people to her friends' corner booth. Never mind that some beefy guy almost whacked her in the head with his elbow on the way. 

Jasper smiles brightly at her and sings out "You made it!" while Octavia slides closer to Monty to make space on the bench. Murphy just smirks lazily with one arm slung around Emori's shoulders. 

"Look what the cat dragged in!" he calls out. "Glad to see you finally decided to show up, Griffin. What's the excuse this time?" 

It's true - she's been late a lot recently, yet only because her schedule is jammed on "Thirsty Thursdays." But it's the only night of the week the rest of them can get together as a group. 

"Chem lab," Clarke shoots back at him, running a hand through her windswept hair in an attempt to tame her waves. 

"Aww, I'm sure your mom can pull a few strings if the material is too hard for you." 

She narrows her eyes and purses her lips. The comeback is building sharp on her tongue but proves unnecessary when Harper chimes in with a quick, "Fuck off, Murphy," while throwing her friend a sympathetic smile. 

Murphy's an ass, sure, but it's not like he knows better. To him, she's one of Arkadia University's elite - her mom's the damn dean after all. He certainly doesn't know her dad died six months earlier from a rare kind of leukemia or that her mom recently started dating the Vice Chancellor of Student Affairs, Marcus Kane, out of nowhere. (Literally nowhere - she had tried to get him fired two months before). He's unaware that Professor Pike pulled her aside after calculus today and told her that if her heart really isn't in her pre-med curriculum anymore, no one would blame her if she wanted to switch majors. (Her grades on that front speak for themselves, but her mother is dead set on her becoming a doctor and until recently, she really thought she wanted to be one too. Plus, she's already a junior - now seems like a bad time to jump ship). Murphy doesn't know how much she misses her childhood best friend Wells, who chose to go to Polis College in Maryland. She feels guilty when she cries to Wells over Skype because that's the only way he's gotten to see her for weeks and weeks now - as a red-nosed, blubbering, pixelated mess. But Wells grew up with Jake as a second dad; he's the only one who understands what she's going through. Again, none of this is really Murphy's fault. He's not her friend, he's actually Bellamy's friend, and he only started hanging out with them more lately because of well, ... Bellamy. 

For a moment, she's able to push the thought of her best friend's older brother out of her mind. She crinkles up her nose at Murphy instead and slips into the seat next to Octavia. 

"Chem lab might be hard, but at least I know how to read." 

Clarke cranks up the charm, sending Murphy a dazzling smile that shows off lots of white teeth and follows it up with fake concern. "It's ok to admit when you need help. You know we can find you the right tutor to get you through _Green Eggs and Ham_ once and for all..." Murphy scowls and throws a fry at her while the rest of the table cracks up in laughter. 

The light-hearted ease lasts only a few moments for her though. Bellamy's shaggy curls come into view, and the world tilts a little on its axis. His dark eyes meet hers momentarily and a small smile plays around his lips. Clarke feels her heart slam to life under her ribs and suddenly wonders what to do with her hands. 

"Hey, Princess." 

He pushes a red plastic basket full of chicken strips and carrot and celery sticks at her before sitting down on the lone chair pulled up right to the edge of their booth. His knee knocks briefly against hers in the process, and heat shoots straight up thigh. 

"Hi," she breathes back, so distracted by the food that she forgets to tell him for the thousand time to stop calling her that. "What's this?" 

Bellamy shrugs, raising one eyebrow casually and passes Jasper and Monty a bottle of beer each before responding. 

"I owed them drinks," he nods at the boys. "I figured you never ate dinner, so."

He takes a swig of his own Sam Adams, and Clarke gets lost in the bobble of his Adam's apple. 

"Thanks," she says quietly, staring down at the warm food as opposed to back at him. 

"Grandpa over here always looking out for us," Octavia grins, reaching over Clarke to smack her brother's shoulder. He swats her off with an affectionate smile. 

"Someone's got to make sure you don't starve," he retorts. 

Clarke's vaguely aware of the conversation flooding back to life around her, but she misses the knowing glance Harper throws her way. Her mind is still trying to wrap itself around the sweet gesture and what it could mean when Bellamy's touch on her forearm makes her jump. The next thing she knows, her vision is swimming with freckles. 

"You ok?" Bellamy's talking nearly right into her ear to be heard over the blare of Señortia in the background. 

"I'm fine," she nods a little. But the concern doesn't leave his gaze. "Just a little tired." 

Bellamy seems to accept that answer, and soon, they're both pulled into a debate by Monty over which Democratic candidate is going to win the nomination. She breathes a sigh of relief and finds herself arguing hotly with Murphy over Elizabeth Warren's electability. She trains her attention on Jasper's side of the booth as much as possible because a flit of pleasure glows to life low in her belly every time Bellamy uses his deep voice to agree with her. 

It wasn't always like this. 

Bellamy Blake's been a part of her world since high school. But in the background. Always in the background as Octavia's older brother. On the first day of second semester freshman year at Sanctum High, a high-energy brunette with the intense stare flopped down next to her in English, and by way of introduction, pointed toward the floppy-haired guy Clarke had just been talking to and said, "Don't get any ideas, Blondie, he's mine." 

Clarke dated the aforementioned floppy-haired guy (Finn) for a nearly a year until she found out he was simultaneously dating a girl named Raven in the next town over. But the unlikely friendship with Octavia survived far beyond the Shakespearian monologues they had to act out together. They became best friends while making nachos in the Blake's microwave, taking Buzzfeed quizzes and supposedly learning the difference between blank verse and sestinas. 

Bellamy was there from the beginning - the typical older brother raiding the fridge for food, ruffling their hair annoyingly and yelling at them to turn the TV down. He was a senior, and any ideas Clarke might've gotten into her head about him being attractive (yeah she had once stumbled across him coming out of the shower with only a towel wrapped around his waist, sue her) went out the window the minute he first started calling her Princess. It was during a spaghetti dinner, and he'd just learned that her mom was Dean of Arkadia University and her father was the CEO of Alpha Engineering, the largest employer in town. 

Mrs. Blake had long ago stopped trying to break up their arguments. She'd even apologized for her son's behavior to Clarke with a soft hand on her shoulder on more than one occasion. Clarke can vividly recall one of their worst blowouts in the Blake's kitchen over whether or not Bellamy should accept his generous scholarship to Arkadia University or find a job and go to night school instead to help his mom with the bills. 

_Clarke's chest had been heaving and she'd been pink in the face, tips of her fingers clutching hard to the counter tops. Bellamy had just slammed the front door, and she could hear his tires leaving skid marks along the driveway. His words still rung in her head. _

_"You're one of the privileged, Clarke. You'll never understand what it's like on the other side. Everything isn't handed to me."_

_"But this is being handed to you, Bellamy!" she'd stomped her foot in her frustration. "It's a great opportunity, and with a degree from Ark, you'll be in a good position to help support your family. Think of the long-term!" _

_"Don't you think I know what's best for my own family, Princess?" he'd come close enough for her to see the glint in his eyes, towering over her in her bare feet. It had left her mouth dry. _

_She hadn't even known Aurora was upstairs, and she was so embarrassed to see the woman appear at her side with a box of tissues. _

_"Forgive him, sweetheart. He's hot-headed like his father was and always tries to take on more responsibility than I ask him to," she'd smiled warmly. "He values your opinion ... I think that's why he gets so worked up." _

_"I'm really sorry, Mrs. Blake. He's right, I shouldn't have gotten involved. I ... didn't- I didn't mean to intrude." _

_The older woman had surveyed her for a long moment before resting back against the countertop and speaking again. _

_"I'm glad you care, Clarke. He needs to be able to talk to someone who thinks for herself and speaks up when she feels like she needs to." _

_She hadn't really known what to say back to that, but the conversation lingered with her for a long time nonetheless. _

In the end, Bellamy did go to Arkadia University, majoring in history and minoring in driving Clarke and Octavia crazy. The school was close enough for him to still do his laundry at home sometimes. When he was in a good mood, he helped the girls with their math homework and SAT prep while teasing Clarke relentlessly about her ritzy family vacations to Spain and Thailand. The fight was more or less forgotten. 

It was during her junior year at Sanctum that things shifted between them again. She'd recently broken up with Lexa and was drowning her sorrows with tequila at Roan's Winter Rager while his parents spent time at their mountain house. Octavia was downstairs flirting shamelessly with Atom or she would've had backup at least. 

_Her heels were too high, and they sunk into the plush carpet upstairs on her way out of the bathroom. The line for the one downstairs had been six people long. At first Clarke was too busy readjusting her skirt to notice Finn Collins rounding a corner and coming her way. She definitely should have paced her drinking better. _

_"Clarke," he'd called hopefully. "I was hoping you'd be here!" _

_Lines appeared on Clarke's forehead as she wrinkled her face in distaste. "Oh you've got to be kidding me." _

_"Not dealing with you tonight, thanks anyway," she pushed into his shoulder to move around him. _

_"Come on, Clarke, please. It's been months. I apologized. It was a misunderstanding - Raven thought we were still together after I moved but--"_

_"Save it, I'm not interested." _

_"But babe, you won't return any of my calls or texts, and I'm just trying to apologize. You know I'm crazy about you..."_

_"You have a funny way of showing it." _

_She could hear his breathing behind her, and it made her stomach squirm. _

_"We broke up, babe. I told you. I broke up with her to be with you." _

_It was obvious he'd been drinking too - she could hear the lilt in his voice. Anger flaring hotly, Clarke turned on her heel to stare him down. "I never asked you to do that! I don't want you, Finn!"_

_He looked deflated for a moment, but then he reached out for her arm, pushing his long hair out of his eyes. "Come on, babe. I think I'm in love with you. You're driving me insane! You're all I think about." He took a measured step closer to her and smirked. His grip on her arm tightened a little. "You're lucky I like the thrill of the chase, but don't you think enough is enough?"_

_"Yeah, I think enough is enough. Now get away from her." _

_The commanding tone caught them both by surprise. Bellamy Blake was climbing the last few steps of the staircase to the landing wearing a heavy leather jacket and a pissed-off expression. _

_Clarke took the opportunity to wrench herself free of Finn's grip and move toward the light of the stairwell. _

_"Who the hell are you?" snapped Finn._

_"Not a good start," Bellamy grunted. He waved a motioning hand to Clarke, and she moved to stand beside him. Sometimes your best friend's older brother dressing like he belonged in Grease paid off. Still, there was too much gel in his black locks. She was angry at him for intervening (and fine, maybe a tad bit grateful), but she had to admit he smelled good. She leaned a little nearer to him - like woodsmoke on the water. Then Bellamy was talking again. _

_"I'm Bellamy Blake. Who are you?" _

_"Finn," he raised his chin. "Clarke's boyfriend." _

_Bellamy let out a dry laugh. Clarke's blue eyes opened wide when his arm curved over her shoulders. "Oh, so you're the cheating scumbag she broke up with months ago. So good to meet you." _

_"Bellamy," she interjected even though she kind of wanted to snuggle into his chest. Stupid drunk Clarke. "I don't need your help. I have this under control." _

_He leveled her with a strange stare that she couldn't decipher. He was closer than usual, and his stubble showed in the low light. Bellamy's jaw twitched, and she wasn't sure if it was with humor or annoyance. _

_"Fine, tell your ex to fuck off and let's go - Octavia called me after throwing up downstairs, and I'm tired of cleaning up the messes you two make." _

_She narrowed her eyes but waved him back down the stairs and with one last look between the two, he retreated. With a sigh, Clarke turned back to Finn. She hardened her voice and squared her shoulders. _

_"I mean this with every bone in my body, Finn. Don't make me say it again, or I will let Bellamy beat the shit out of you." (Finn didn't need to know that had never been an offer on the table). "I. Don't. Want. Anything. To. Do. With. You. Ever. Again. Good night." _

_She left him there dumbstruck, then tottered down the steps where she found Bellamy holding her jacket out for her to slip into. Octavia stood beside him, skin pale and smile apologetic. _

_"Let's go," he grunted, and they followed him into the night. _

_Octavia fell asleep in the back seat of his olive green Jeep, but Clarke stayed awake all the way back to the Blake's side of town. Bellamy didn't speak and neither did she. She'd never gone this long with him in silence. But then as they exited the highway and made the turn down the road toward Factory Lane, he punched at his radio until her favorite station came on. Overhead, the moon gleamed. _


	2. Chapter 2

With some alcohol flowing through her veins, Clarke's limbs start feeling lighter and looser, and the cramped, swaying scene at The City of Light doesn't seem so bad anymore. The gleaming wood stage is set for karaoke tonight. When the first strains of "Respect" start up, she has to scramble out of Jasper's way as he heads toward the music like a thirsty man honing in on a desert oasis. He pulls Octavia along by the hand behind him. Clarke laughs, shaking her head at them. 

"I'm going to go grab a fresh drink," she tells Harper. 

Her friend's eyes flick toward the crowded bar stools in the general direction where Bellamy disappeared a couple minutes earlier. 

"Of course you are," Harper wags her eyebrows.

Clarke shoots her a confused look she hopes is convincing and then launches herself into the gap opened up by a bachelorette party making their way to the stage to get in line to perform. She fluffs a hand through her blonde locks nervously, now debating getting the drink at all. If she's acting weird enough right now for Harper to think something's up, there's no telling how she'll start behaving the longer the night goes on. 

But then by some stroke of late night magic, Bellamy comes into view, leaning casually against a far corner of the busy bar. The motion draws attention to his biceps, which show up nicely underneath the stretch of his green sweater. He catches Clarke's eye and smiles brightly enough at her that she has to catch her breath. When the hell did he get so beautiful? 

_Get a grip, Clarke. It's Bellamy. _

She knows how pointless her little pep talks are at this point. Her conscious brain is just not powerful enough to override the gravitational pull in his direction as he stands up straighter. 

Flipping her hair over her shoulder, she stops beside him and bumps her hip lightly into his. 

"Hiding out until the karaoke's over, huh? Good plan," she whispers conspiratorially. 

Bellamy runs a hand through his dark curls and laughs, rich and sure. "Secret's out I guess," he shrugs. "I sing like a dying cat." 

She jumps up onto the seat beside him, and he follows suit, sitting down too. Bellamy's arm brushes against hers when he leans closer. Something with wings takes flight in her chest. 

"Can I buy you a drink, Princess?" 

Clarke blinks and bites her lip. _He's just being nice. _

"You don't have to do that," she hedges. 

Bellamy frowns then quickly covers it with a casual smirk. "You've been editing chapters of my thesis on tight deadlines for _weeks_ now, Clarke. And you won't let me pay you--"

Clarke holds up her hand. 

"I told you it's on the house." 

"Yeah, but--"

"But nothing. I'm better at syntax than you are." 

She can tell the moment his frustration morphs into something softer. It shows up in the easing of lines around his mouth. Helping him with editing has been the only way she's been able to even begin to pay him back for his kindness since her dad died. If she ever needed proof that Bellamy Blake has a big heart (she didn't), his cooking hot meals for her and her mom and letting her crash at his place with Octavia when she needed to escape campus lately with no questions asked would've convinced her. 

"Octavia mentioned you had a new job. How's that going?" she asks to fill the lingering silence stretching between them. 

"It's good," he tenses a fraction, but she's unsure why. "Tuition doesn't pay itself, you know?"

Clarke blushes. _She's such an idiot. _She knows how weird he gets about money. Bellamy might have gotten a full scholarship for his graduate studies, but Octavia is paying her way through college with a combination of scholarships, loans and a part-time gig at Jaha's Java, the coffee shop ironically enough owned by Wells' dad Theolonious.

"Right," Clarke nods. But when she dares to look up at him, the light is back in his brown eyes. "Soooo..." 

"So?" 

"You're not gonna tell me what you're doing?" 

"Maybe I like being a man of mystery." 

Clarke laughs outright at that. 

"I don't know if that's possible." 

"Hey, never say never." 

A couple trying to squeeze by their seats jostles Clarke's shoulder, and Bellamy places his hand there briefly to steady her. But before she can really react, the sound of Octavia crooning out, "_I hate the world today. You're so good to me I know, but I can't change," _pull both of their attention to where the brunette rocks against the microphone stand. 

"Your sister sounds good up there." 

The bartender nods her chin toward Octavia, arriving all of a sudden in a rush of lavender perfume. Her glossy mane of brown curls shines in the bar's lights. 

"Hey, Gina." 

Bellamy smiles at the woman, and a shovel hollows out Clarke's stomach. 

"Hey, yourself. When am I finally going to see you up there?" 

Bellamy shakes his head, rubbing at the back of his neck.

"You know that's not my thing." 

Gina widens her hazel eyes playfully. "You're just being modest. I bet you'd be great at it." 

"If you like wailing in general, maybe." 

The bartender beams, pushing at his bicep with a few fingers lightly. Clarke gets a pretty decent view of her cleavage down her tight black shirt. 

"I forgot - you're more the hot dudes reading type. I thought I saw you on that Insta account last week," she teases with a wink. 

Gina has managed the impossible. Bellamy is blushing straight through his freckles. He looks down at his half-empty glass of coke (of course he switched to soda at some point - he's too responsible for his own good) and clears his throat while Gina laughs quietly. Clarke suddenly feels desperately out of place. A sinking feeling blooms in her stomach. It's always like this with him. Brief stretches of time that make her feel a little less alone, like somebody gets her, before they're obliterated. 

"What can I get you, hun?" she finally turns her attention to Clarke. 

"Shot of Absolut," she says stiffly. 

Gina fills the order seconds later, placing the glass down on the wood bar in front of Clarke who immediately downs it. 

"One more please," she requests in a level tone, staring straight at the bartender's face. 

"Sure." 

"Hey. Clarke--" The warmth of Bellamy's hand bleeds through her jeans where it lands on her thigh.

She brushes him off and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. "I'll cover myself," is all she says. 

"How are classes going?" he tries, but she feels herself shutting down. 

"I'll survive the semester." 

Gina returns with her shot and she downs it, throwing some money down on the bar before pushing her way back through the crowd. In the back of her mind she knows she's acting like a spoiled child, but she can't muster up enough maturity to care. 

"You ok?" Monty asks after taking one look at her face. 

"Yeah, yeah," Clarke brushes her hand through the air. "I've got a group project meeting tomorrow morning, so I should head out." 

Harper's fingers still where they were weaving through Monty's hair. "You want me to call you an Uber?" 

"Nah, it's just a few blocks. I need some fresh air." 

The air is chilly, raising goosebumps on her skin. She should have brought her leather jacket but as it is, she's just wearing a thin, long-sleeved navy top and a pair of black jeans with black boots. She hears them click as she walks, staring up at the tiny pink buds that are breaking through on certain branches. Spring is approaching slowly but surely. Clarke's been walking for about five minutes when she hears the dull roar of an old engine behind her. Then the yellow headlights emerge over the top of the hill and flood her back. 

The vehicle starts to slow down, and that's when her heartbeat kicks up. She's too tired to run and not strong enough to fight off whoever might be in the car. Instead, she speeds up her steps. But then the engine idles and she turns her head briefly in the darkness, taking in the fresh paint job of Bellamy's Jeep. 

"Clarke, what the hell are you doing?" comes his gruff tone. 

She emits a heavy sigh. "I'm going back to campus. What does it look like?" 

"You shouldn't be walking alone this late at night. I would've driven you home if I knew you were leaving." 

His anger drips out into his tone but seems misplaced to her. He should be happy she got out of the way of his hookup. 

"It's not your job to take care of me, Bellamy." 

She feels bad about it as soon as the words leave her mouth, but still, it's true. She needs to put more space between them and clear her head. 

The car stops abruptly, tires squeaking, and Clarke stares at Bellamy fully through the open window. His chin is sporting some new facial hair, and he looks tired now too. 

"Get in the damn car. It's freezing." 

Her feet turn to cement blocks on the sidewalk. She meets his gaze and finds it to be more level than she anticipated. Slowly, she opens the door and shuffles inside his leather passenger seat. It's warm within and smells like the old books piled up on the back seat. Bellamy reaches behind him and tugs a fluffy brown blanket onto her lap. 

"Here," he grunts before continuing to drive down the silent road. 

He doesn't make any conversation, and neither does she. Instead she watches the bungalow houses flick past, nose feeling warm and tears threatening to spill from her eyes. She knows better than this. He'll be with Gina before the daffodils start to bloom. There's always someone new, and it had might as well be the flirty bartender. It was stupid to think anything else, even if just for a few minutes. Clarke's grip on the side door tightens as her brain yells at her to quit being greedy and unreasonable. The thought that her dad would have known the right stupid thing to say to make her feel better doesn't help. 

Before long they've pulled into the parking lot of her dorm. Bellamy cuts the engine and abruptly gets out, walking around the front of the Jeep to her side. He opens the door with a creak. 

"Come on, I'll help you," he holds out his hand. 

He must think she's too tipsy to make it gracefully to the pavement. The thought should enrage her, but to her mortification, warm tears begin sliding down her cheeks instead. 

"Clarke, what is it? What's the matter?" Alarm colors every syllable. 

She has no idea how it happens. One second she's sitting sideways on her seat and staring sightlessly at the glowing windows of the brick building behind Bellamy. The next she's half-leaped, half-fallen to the ground and has begun crying more heavily. Her jaw wobbles, and her face scrunches up. 

Bellamy's arms slide around her back at once, pulling her into his chest and running a hand up and down her spine in slow, soothing strokes. 

"It's all right. Breathe. You're ok. I've got you. Just breathe for me," he says several times. 

She feels guilty for crying on him and knows she's going to leave mascara marks on his nice sweater. It's not enough to stem the flood of grief within her though. 

"I miss my dad," she finally mumbles into the side of Bellamy's neck. 

She feels the rise and fall of his chest as he takes in a deep breath. 

"I know, Princess. I know." 


	3. Chapter 3

Contrary to Professor Pike's well-intentioned advice, Clarke does not find herself in the registrar's office the following week to change her course of study. Instead, she clutches a gift card between her fingers and stands at the check-in counter at Second Dawn Spa while a tall woman with crazy auburn curls watches her curiously. 

"You said you booked the hot stone massage, right?" the woman (Luna according to her name tag) asks, scanning her computer screen.

"Yes," Clarke smiles tightly. "Clarke Griffin, 5 p.m." 

Around them the sounds of an Enya song waft through the air. Clarke's blue eyes take in the mural on the wall of a rising butter yellow sun coming up from behind mountains. There's a stone fountain in the middle of the room offering up the soothing sound of water running over rocks. A few comfortable burgundy armchairs rest in front of glass shelves stocked with skincare products, and a mild smell of sweet incense cloaks the air. 

"Oh, I see the issue," Luna murmurs in understanding. "Your reservation is under the name Abigail Griffin. Is she..." 

"My mother," Clarke smiles with tight lips. "She scheduled this for me as a present."

"How nice," Luna says in an airy way. 

She slides the gift card across the counter, and Luna scans it through the machine. 

"Please go straight back through those doors," she points at large wooden doors with golden hands for handles. "Stay to the left and when you see the little hallway on the right, you'll find the locker rooms back there. We leave robes to use during your visit in each locker. Feel free to place any personal items inside and take the key with you during your stay. Once you're ready, please wait in the Zen Den until a member of our staff comes for you. There are refreshments for you to try there as well as some snacks."

"Thanks," Clarke tries to absorb all the information. "And this Zen Den is where?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. This is your first time here, isn't it? Your mother comes frequently, but I should have asked."

Clarke nods. 

"Right this way, I'll give you the grand tour." 

Fifteen minutes later, Clarke finds herself wrapped in a thick, warm robe sinking into a couch in the Zen Den. Before her, a pretty wall of glass cubes glows a gentle tangerine. Soothing music plays in the background, and a porcelain mug of hot cocoa rests between her palms. She closes her eyes. It's hard to admit, but this wasn't her mother's worst idea ever. Abby had been commenting lately on how worn down she looked. But the breaking point occurred when she fell asleep with her head resting on her folded arms right at the gilded table of a university fundraiser dinner. So, now here she is. 

There's a gentle knock at the door, which causes her to stir. But the moment her eyes open, all the gathering relaxation brewing in her bones disappears in an instant. Because there in the doorway dressed in a white T-shirt and matching pants is a shocked Bellamy Blake. 

"Ah, uh, but, wha--" she stutters before managing to compose herself with a deep breath. 

"Hey, Clarke," Bellamy says with a tight-lipped smile.

She can't help it. It's the rise of a rose red blush to his cheeks that makes her start to giggle. 

"So this is your part-time job, huh?" 

He clears his throat and squares his shoulders. "Yeah, but seriously, if you're in any way uncomfortable, I'll find someone else, uh, a woman, you know. Whatever you want." 

It's kind of adorable to watch him out of his element. Clarke tilts her head to the side to examine him before standing up. 

"Are you uncomfortable with it?" 

It's so interesting how his swallow is loud and really much more of a gulp. "'Course not." 

"Then neither am I. Guess you're gonna have to put those hands to use, Blake." 

She sweeps by him and into the hallway, regretting her breezy self-assuredness almost immediately when she realizes that in the first place, the flip-flops they gave her squeak and in the second, she has no idea where she's going. Clarke looks up and down the long hallway at the closed doors sporting pictures of faraway destinations like Bali. Just off to the right in an alcove is some sort of golden Buddhist statue. 

"Uhhh..."

"Straight down and then it's the corner room on the left," Bellamy offers. He's smirking a little now. 

"I can't believe you actually learned how to do massages and didn't bother to tell anyone," she says more to break the silence than because she's actually mad. 

"I'm just full of surprises." 

The deep toned reply is closer to the back of her head than she anticipated. A baby shiver runs up Clarke's spine. She hasn't seen him since the night she fell apart in his arms a week ago. He did text her to check on her the next morning, but that's been the extent of it. She spent the week drowning in work and wishing away a snow storm that made it way harder than necessary to drive around town. 

Bellamy leads her to a nondescript brown door and pushes it open, lingering in the doorway as she steps inside. It's heavily dark gray, the only real light coming from some glowing decorative stones on a table. There's a miniature fountain in one corner, some lovely potted peace lilies in another, a small sink with a mirror and cabinets and a large massage table covered in black sheets in the center of the room. 

"I'll give you a minute to get changed. There's a hook on the back of the door for your robe. Then, uh, just get up on the table face down - you can use the cradle - and pull up the sheets, all right?" 

He says it in a bit of a rush, but this time she's not so amused. Her heart is beating a harder tattoo than before as she realizes that _Bellamy Blake's hands are about to be on her body._

"Ok, thanks," she squeaks.

She slips off her flip-flops, tucking them away in the corner, and then steels herself to remove her robe and hang it up. She opted to only wear her simple navy underwear underneath, and she's regretting the decision now. But honestly at least she didn't choose to go naked - how mortifying would that be?! Plus, there's supposed to be oils in massages, right? People don't want them getting on their clothes, do they? Her head spins. 

The table is cushioned and relaxingly warm. There are a few framed photos on the wall - perhaps of the Himalayan Mountains - but it's too dark to tell. She yanks the sheet all the way up to her shoulders as close to her ears as possible before pressing her face into the cradle and trying to let the musical sound of a running river carry her away to any kind of tranquility. 

Bellamy's sure knock comes a minute later. "You all set?" he calls through the door.

"Come in." She sounds too breathy.

The door closes with a click behind him, and she hears him making his way toward the sink. "Good to know you can follow directions," he jokes. 

Clarke snorts. Maybe this won't be so hard after all. 

"This is a pretty fancy place. You sure you're not going to become an elitist working here?" 

"Wouldn't you like that?" 

Clarke shifts on the table, doing her best to make her limbs comfortable. It's probably a losing battle. 

"So you wanted the hot stone massage, right?" 

"Uh, yeah." 

"All right," Bellamy says from what sounds like almost right above her a few moments later. "Tell me if this is too hot." 

He pulls down the sheet gently, and she feels the light press of something hard around the top of her spine.

"Ok?" 

"Feels good," she manages. How can her throat be dry? She just had cocoa. 

"Good." 

A wave of cooler air coasts over the curve of her back as Bellamy rolls down the sheet and tucks it into the sides of her waist. She bites her lip. His fingers don't linger, just press lightly to make sure the fabric is secure. But already there's a faint pulse between her thighs. _This was not a good idea. _

He starts with her neck, gripping it firmly enough to release the tension in her muscles but not too tight to hurt. She sinks deeper into the cushion as his hands slowly trail down to her shoulders, kneading the flesh there. His hands are slightly calloused and oiled just as she anticipated. The feel of them raises goosebumps up across the backs of her arms that she prays he won't notice in the low light. 

"How was your week?" he breaks the solitude. 

It's a blessing, really. She was afraid she was breathing too loudly. 

"A little hectic," she admits. 

There's the sound of stones clacking together in a basin nearby and then Bellamy is sliding one straight from the base of her neck over every trigger point in her trapezius muscle before gliding it down her arm. 

"Oohhh." She can't manage to contain the moan this time. 

The motion stills. "Too much?" 

"No, no," she says in a rush. He chuckles, and she wishes she could kick him but without being able to see, she'd probably miss wildly and topple off the table. "It's fine." 

She can hear the smile in his reply. "Noted." 

The river music shifts to a tune that reminds her of one that often plays at the Chinese restaurant her mother likes. 

"I wanted to apologize," she mostly whispers. Bellamy keeps the movement of the stone steady as it rolls down her back parallel to her spine but seems to move it more slowly. 

"What for?" 

"Blubbering all over you last week. You were out for a fun night - I shouldn't have done that. Or ... yelled at you," she forces herself to continue. "It wasn't fair. I know you were just trying to help." 

A huff of air escapes from his nose. 

"You don't have to apologize, Clarke. You've been going through a lot." 

"That's no excuse. I shouldn't have acted like that." 

Bellamy's quiet again, abandoning the stone and pressing into the knots along her back with his thumbs instead. She feels the sheet perching a little too low for comfort as he works and thanks heaven she wore underwear. Finally, with both of his hands pressed into the tops of her hips, he speaks. 

"I don't want you to apologize for turning to me. That's what I'm here for, ok?" 

She's pretty sure the blood is flowing through her body at twice its normal rate. 

"Ok." 

The slick stone is back pressing into tough points north of her elbow she never knew existed. "As for the yelling, it's part of your charm." 

She does attempt to kick him this time, angling her foot in what she feels like is the general direction of his hip. 

"Ass!" she huffs while he laughs. 

But then his palm is pressing into her lower back, and her nipples instantaneously grow tight. 

"Easy, Princess. I'm trying to be nice to you here." 

She tries to laugh, but it comes out dry and choked. Bellamy has begun rucking up the sheet around her legs, moving to tuck it in around her hips to reach the muscles of her thighs. His fingertips brush against her inner thigh, and even through all the bunched-up cloth, it burns. 

"That's yet to be determined." 

She has no idea what makes her say it, but Bellamy seems to ignore it. In the next breath, he starts telling her about a psychological thriller he went to see at the movies last Saturday with his friend Miller. 

Things are fine for a while. She tries to go limp while the warmth of the stone leaches into her calves. Bellamy even takes the trouble of pressing one into the soles of her feet. It's honestly a great massage. He's firm without being too firm and keeps her relaxed with teasing jabs when she starts to tense up. She should've known it wouldn't last. 

"Time to turn over," Bellamy announces. 

He's holding up the sheet, so she can flip herself onto her back for the second half of the massage. Her skin is nice and tingly and coated in the faint scent of eucalyptus. She rolls over with a small hum. 

"But I'm comfortable like this." 

It's true. Her muscles feel like silly putty as it is, and she's sunken limply into the cushions. 

Bellamy waits for her to roll over before lifting her legs to slide a round pillow beneath her knees. Well, he tries to wedge it beneath her knees. But she's oiler than he probably anticipated and the slide of the faux leather against her skin sends the tubular creation scuttling toward the floor. 

It lands standing up on its side and without thinking, Clarke calls out, "I'll get it!" and sits up to scoop it up from the ground. 

She slides it back under the sheet beneath her knees. Bellamy has turned to a stone himself beside her, and she raises an eyebrow at him. "What?" 

But then she sees his eyes fastened to a place that's decidedly not her face, and her own widen in response. 

"I'm so sorry... shit!" His eyes snap shut the next moment, and he flings his tan forearm up in front of them.

For a moment, time stands still. Blood pounds in her ears, and the fountain seems to shimmer at her left. But then she realizes the sound she hears is Bellamy’s unsteady attempt to pull air into his lungs. And then, maybe because she's a newly minted crazy person, she sits up straighter and lets the sheet fall farther away from her torso. 

"Bellamy?" she asks carefully. 

"Yeah?" he croaks. 

She licks her lips and weighs the pros and cons in her mind. 

"You can turn around.”

The thick fingers he's raking through his curls nervously stay lodged in place. 

He coughs. 

"Are you ... like ... 150 percent sure?" 

"I am." It's the wildest feeling exploding in her stomach like she's not even her. 

Bellamy pivots in slow motion, his chocolate brown eyes meeting her ocean blue ones first as if asking for permission. She nods and stretches out a hand to him. "Come here." 

He shuffles forward, unsure, but then lets his own oily hand slip against her fingers. She catches his wrist and watches his face when she brings his palm to rest against the side of her breast. This seems to jog him back to reality because then he’s helping tug the sheet back up around her securely.

“That was totally my fault. I’m sorry,” he searches her eyes earnestly. “Please forgive me.”

She shuts her eyes and shakes her head, laughing a little at the absurdity of it all.

“I told you to look. I _invited _you to look.”

“Yeah, but—“

“It’s ok. Really.”

This is all she needs, she tells herself. If she can just have this one blissful moment of Bellamy Blake willingly with her in the dark while she pretends they're something more, it'll be enough. She captures his hand again and draws it to her waist this time, relishing the warmth seeping into her skin.

“Bellamy,” she says so quietly he leans in, straining to hear her. His still-as-a-statue pose is officially freaking her out. “If there’s no chance... I mean, if you don’t want to—” The blush staining her cheeks and neck now must be unmistakable. “Then I’ll go,” she stumbles over the words. “I’ll leave, and this never happened.”

"Perfect," she hears him murmur. 

She stares at him in surprise, mouth opening and closing once more. 

"What did you say?" 

Bellamy blinks and drops his hands from her instantly, straightening up. "I said you're perfect." 

She surges up and reaches for his bicep then, clasping onto the strength that eased the tension out of her body, and tugs him toward her. Their faces float close enough together that she can see the scar above his lip. 

"Do you mean it? Really mean it?" 

His face shifts into a bemused expression. Clarke's breath catches when his free hand moves up to cradle her cheek. 

"’Course I do," he promises softly. 

Clarke doesn't hesitate after that. She weaves her fingers into the hair curling at the back of his neck and leans up to press a gentle kiss to his mouth. He returns the gesture, keeping it chaste and sweet despite the circumstances until Clarke huffs quietly and, sliding up onto her knees to improve the angle, nips at his lower lip to be permitted entry. He tastes sweet like peppermint with just a hint of smoke. Bellamy wraps a hand around her waist and tugs her closer, allowing her to feel his chest crushed against her. She groans a little as he strokes up the side of her ribs and tries to wiggle her hand toward the top of his shorts. 

"Wait," he rasps, catching her wrist firmly. 

Her blue eyes are large and glassy when they seek out his. 

"What?"

"You've been going through so much, Princess." The nickname sounds so different now, fragile. "I don't want to take advantage." 

She smiles crookedly at him then loops her fingers into the fabric at the bottom of his shirt. "I promise you're not," she reassures. Is this the moment to confess, she wonders? "I-- _like_ you." 

"Thank God," his entire being seems to sag in relief. Clarke presses her palm against his heart to feel it beating fast. "I never wanted to get my hopes up." 

Clarke smacks lightly into his chest, giggling as she wags her eyebrows. "Is that your ridiculous way of saying you like me too?" 

He helps her pull off his shirt and then she can finally see the miles of amber abs he was hiding underneath it. 

"I thought it was obvious. I'm hopeless around you." 

The kisses are deeper then, spurred on perhaps by how the bare skin of their chests can touch now. When Bellamy latches on to her pulse point, she turns to jelly and has to grip onto the curve of his elbow to stay upright. She falls easily back on the table, allowing him to crawl on top of her, the sheets forgotten in a tangled heap at their feet. It's delicious to feel his strength above her, to swipe a thumb across his line of freckles and watch him smile boyishly down at her. Clarke kisses his jaw, running her hands over his back in sweeping motions. 

"Didn't know I was going to get a massage today too," he huffs into her ear. 

"Idiot," she sighs affectionately, enjoying the joy flowing through her. 

But then the music changes again to a kind of chanting, and she's jarred back to the reality of this situation. 

"Oh God. Bellamy, _Bellamy,_" she tries more insistently as he starts peppering little kisses across the tops of her breasts. 

"Hmmm?"

"We have to stop! You work here!"

Bellamy pauses and looks up at her, flicking back the shaggy curls falling into his eyes with a shake of his head. "There aren't any cameras, and we've still got 30 minutes. Think you can be quiet for me?" 

She bites her lip in excitement then nods feverishly. 

"Kiss me." 

He does, pouring a certain unknowable feeling into the welcome crush of his lips against hers. Clarke lies back on the plush table and he follows, soft chuckling morphing into pants and sighs. 

Bellamy collapses as gracefully as he can on her afterward. She welcomes the closeness, kissing the top of his sweaty curls. She reaches for the black sheet to pull back up around herself, head still buzzing by the unexpected turn of events. 

"So what now?" she wonders aloud. 

"Now we go book your next appointment." 


End file.
